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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24428542">A Lofty Goal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedtogetherwithadagger/pseuds/tiedtogetherwithadagger'>tiedtogetherwithadagger</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, M/M, Moving In Together, Mutual Pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:40:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>987</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24428542</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedtogetherwithadagger/pseuds/tiedtogetherwithadagger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a really short ficlet to help me get back into writing, hope you guys enjoy it!</p><p>Stiles moves into Derek's loft as soon as he graduates high school. He's spent so long alone in his childhood home, full of loss and abandonment, he can't wait to have his own place to craft out a tangible piece of his heart into, one that he fit into like a glove. A place he can grow into, slipping into a version of himself he never could have before. Derek's loft may not be the exact embodiment of that, but it could very well become one. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Lofty Goal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY so I have decided to come out of hiding and publish my first fic in three years, enjoy my mess!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stiles moves into Derek's loft as soon as he graduates high school. He's spent so long alone in his childhood home, full of loss and abandonment, he can't wait to have his own place to craft out a tangible piece of his heart into, one that he fit into like a glove. A place he can grow into, slipping into a version of himself he never could have before. Derek's loft may not be the exact embodiment of that, but it could very well become one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek offered it casually (sure, Derek) one late evening when Stiles had found himself lounging with Derek on his balcony passing a beer bottle back and forth. They were both bone-weary from a week of negotiations with a group of traveling fairies that had threatened them with the Seelie Court and could finally relax without their worries hanging too heavy overhead. Stiles hadn't even stepped foot into high school as a senior yet, but the possibility had been an unspoken maybe, something the both of them thought of often. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Stiles started leaving things at his place, Derek only provided a more permanent home for each item. Stiles’ red hoodie stayed hung on the back of the front door, his tennis shoes sat next to Derek’s hiking boots in the front hall closet, the handful of textbooks and ancient tomes were stacked on the corner of the desk in Derek’s bedroom upstairs. Those aren’t even including the things Stiles had placed purposely around the apartment: drooping pots of plants with bright, waxy, green leaves on top of the fridge and hung in front of each window; the plush rug he had bought spread across the main floor, curling under the wide leather couch and the console table; the tall bright white curtains draped at the end of the wide expanse picture windows that lined the length of the apartment; the knitted throw blankets tossed across the couch in the living room, the few folded in a basket in the corner of the open room, not to mention the absurdly soft furry blanket strewn atop Derek’s bed. Each week there seemed to be new pieces of Stiles laying around in Derek’s space, and Derek feared he would become disappointed if he arrived home without an onslaught of Stiles’ fresh aroma soaking into the bones of his home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whenever Stiles stayed late after a pack meeting or just the two of them eating pizza together, Derek would be struck by Stiles’ effervescent grin, his eyes holding onto a secret only Derek was in on. They were, by no means, secretive about their plans, but the look remained to be one only Derek fell privy to. And every time, just like the first, his heart skipped a beat before pounding faster and he felt his face grow hot. He would -- casually, of course -- cough and look at any and every surface that did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>reflect Stiles’ open and hopeful face. The energy between the two of them sizzled and grew as their time living alone came to a close and the pack could physically feel it when the two of them shared the same space together. During winter break, Stiles started staying the night a few times a week and Derek had made sure to place the puffy down duvet in the guest room -- soon to be Stiles’ room, Derek thought with a dopey grin -- and got in the habit of making breakfast for the both of them. To be fair, he quickly found out that the smell of fresh food and roasted coffee was the only thing that consistently woke Stiles up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day Stiles officially moved in, he spent the morning in his childhood home. He woke up early so he could have breakfast with his father, bacon and eggs much to his father’s enjoyment, and the Sheriff promised him that he would be at the loft right after his shift to help unpack. Once he left, Stiles took a deep, lingering breath and looked around at the place he’s called home for his whole life. He felt like there was a heaviness in the air, the absence of his father’s presence and the even deeper loss of his mother’s made his ears ring. Since he was twelve years old, he had taken care of himself in this place, bought his own clothes, packed his own lunches, cooked for his father and picked up his heart medication, the silence was something he could always rely on. But, staring at the faded blue walls and squinting at the glint of light that reflected off of the picture frame of him, his father, and his mom, Stiles felt like the silence was attacking him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock interrupted his thoughts, and Stiles turned his head to see Derek slipping through the front door -- and what a concept that was -- before taking a look around at the boxes lining the wall by the staircase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Derek murmured, ducking his head to hide the shy smile tugging at his lips and tucked his arms across his chest. “Um, how was breakfast with your dad?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Short,” Stiles replied. “He tried to tell me how I shouldn’t take advantage of your hospitality and, uh,” he muttered the next few words under his breath, “he might have mentioned that we don’t have to take things so fast…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look that crossed Derek’s face was a confusing confliction of emotions that eventually settled on amused embarrassment if Stiles’ translating skills had anything to go by. “Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Right’?” Stiles parroted back to him. Then, with a wide grin, he said, “Why, Hale, I do believe you have to take me to dinner first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve already got a roast in the oven, Stiles. I didn’t forget.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles’ grin grew double in size, “Well alright then. Let’s go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together, they started piling Stiles’ boxes into the Jeep and take the long way home.</span>
</p>
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